


The Color Wheel

by asemic



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:18:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asemic/pseuds/asemic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Practitioners of color psychology claim there are a number of reactions to color which seem to be noted in most persons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Color Wheel

**Orange :: Energy + Balance + Warmth + Demanding of Attention**

There’s a netted bag filled with fruit resting against his leg, top-heavy from the weight of the oranges. Some of them have tumbled out and rolled across his lap splashing bright against his denim. Don watches as Billy reaches for the one that’s rolled against his inner thigh, his face a mask of Zen-like concentration. He weighs the fruit in his hand, letting his fingers curve and cup around it. He runs his thumb along the end, circling the knot of bumpy flesh experimentally before he slips it underneath the rind, releasing a spurt of juice and fragrant oils as it disappears. He peels it slowly, running his fingers along the exposed flesh as it’s revealed strip by strip under his deft movements. Billy sections it after pulling out the thick trapping fibers from the end, laying each sliver on Don’s chest. The fruit is cold from the fridge and his nipples tighten as they are covered with the slices. 

Each one is held up to the light, the outline of Billy’s fingers marring the perfect sunset orange of the fruit. The section is run across his lips and chin sending an icy chill down his body before Don finally sucks it from between his fingers. An explosion of sweet citrus and oils permeate his mouth and tongue. He chews slowly to savor the rich, tangy taste. When he swallows and licks his lips expectantly, Billy reaches out and plucks a sliver, fat with juice and flavor. He’s called Cleopatra as his mouth opens, and Don nips at the offering fingers as he takes the slice. He smiles and presses his back against Billy’s warm stomach, letting the orange pop between his teeth. 

**Green :: Nature + Environment + Life + Inexperience + Youth**

There’s always a ripe smell that tickles the back of his nose when Charlie is near Don. It’s the scent of freshly cut grass mingling with clover, fresh spring leaves, and shoots that burst from the ground, dotting the brown earth with pale. Warm scents are Don scents, like the prickly grass that’s underneath him. He scrapes his bare soles across it, crushing and releasing the smell of renewal and life.

Charlie crouches down and runs his hand along the top of the lawn, tickling his hand as he searches. There’s a ladybug burying itself deeper into the safety of the grass to escape his prodding fingers, a spot of red in a sea of cool green. He plucks a blade and traps it between his thumbs, stretching it tight. He blows, a sharp whistle popping in the air. The grass quivers and vibrates against his skin. He grins and continues to puff a nonsense tune of rough highs and lows. 

Don taught him how to whistle, his hands cupping Charlie’s to keep the blade between his baby fat fingers. Charlie blew spit until a hard rasp was created, leaving him giggling and tooting until it broke. He laughs at this memory and examines the blade, the center vein dark against the surrounding light green-yellow as the sunlight illuminates it. He crushes it between his thumb and pointer, chlorophyll staining his fingers. He snips another thick strand and inhales, a sharp, metallic scent wafting to his nose. Charlie whistles soft and low.

**Purple :: Ceremony + Transformation + Confusion + Wisdom + Enlightenment**

The blood is rushing through his veins, a steady whoosh-whoosh in his ears. He can’t see, can’t hear, can’t speak.

It’s a pain so intense, so bitter and acidic. He’s crawling through razor wire, swimming through a sea that burns.

_Little boy little boy where wast thou born?_

Right here, right here against this flesh, against his body where everything is right. Tensing and sliding and pushing slowly.

His mind is scattered, flashing through images. His adult fingers are looped around the metal rings of the fence watching the arc of the bat as it slices through the air. There’s no crack of wood against the ball, just Don’s adolescent voice sing-songing _have you always wanted me like this tell me have you always wanted me like this Charlie tell me._ The feeling of floating as he’s carried up the stairs to bed, his brother’s arms protective and tight around his body.

Arms that are around him to keep him steady as the in out in out in out pushes him into the mattress. Arms roped with muscle tied to the skin flushed around the ugly bruise blooming hot purple across his chest. The fire licks across his body, replacing sharp stings with velvety pleasure. Charlie’s universe sharpens to crystal clarity.

He touches Don’s face and their eyes lock, more telling than any words. 

_I have always wanted you._

Fleeting, guilty moments in his mind have turned solid and tangible, now weighty in his hands and pressing on top of him. Almost losing him in a flash of acrid smoke and lead pushed them into it. Reassuring hands on his forearms _you can’t leave me_ lips against his shoulder and hair transformed Don and Charlie into _DonandCharlie._

This is what Kim Hall saw. Don’s eyes shut tight, lashes knitting. His mouth is moving around words that make no sound. This is what Billy Cooper saw. His muscles tight and straining, lean body strong above him. This is what Charlie Eppes saw. His brother’s face contorting into his orgasm. Don’s chest rising and falling as his lungs fill with shallow breaths, stuttering sounds starting and ending in his throat. His lips pouting then pulling back as they form his name.

_Charlie._

The world strobes as Don’s hand tightens _I’ll never leave you_ around him. Charlie lets himself fly into his release, moaning and thrusting.

_I won’t, ever._

**White :: Innocence + Good + Humility + Simplicity + Cold + Death**

He’s pretty with that flush crawling across his body, a gentle bloom from his cheeks down his neck and torso. Ian knows he wants a show and as he dips his mouth down to Charlie’s neck and sucks the hollow, he’s more than willing. Feeling his little professor’s hand tighten on the back of his neck prompts him down to his collarbone, away from his open mouth, so pretty and full. It must run in the family, pink bows that bend so feminine against his thinner ones. He really wants nothing more than to float and skim his mouth against it, let his teeth trap Charlie’s lower lip and taste him. He wants to tip his chin up and let those doe eyes meet his as his cock is taken in by full lips. Edgerton knows his curls bounce with every motion of his head, and that’s what he likes. 

Patience is a part of his training, patience lets everything fall into place. Patience will bring him what he needs, what he needs is what he wants. 

Charlie is soft curves and hard bone underneath him, a mix of delicate and masculine, so unlike Don and his solid muscle and angles. They are as alike as they are different, he notes as he makes his way down Charlie’s body. He drags his nails along golden skin to his hipbones then back up his ribs. There’s a quick inhalation of breath and he knows that this is what’ll get them off. Fucking rough and raw and intense. 

_Say that you want this. Say it_.

Charlie licks his lips and looks off to the side.

_I want this._

It is slick heat and warmth as he fucks his little Professor Eppes, drilling his cock deep inside. Tightness surrounds him and he pushes himself up _better angle_ and fucks harder. Ian’s mouth slacks open as he forces Charlie to make these little whimpering sounds. He thrusts, waves of pleasure pushing all the discipline and patience from him, replacing it with the tunnel vision of his orgasm. He hears moaning as he slides out and tosses the condom into the waste bin. Crouching by the bed, Edgerton watches as come spurts onto fingers.

_Fuck…oh god…_

_Charlie…_

Don slumps in the chair, his belly and chest covered in ribbons of come. They came together, Edgerton observes. Hot heat, gripping fists, moaning, _they came together._ Charlie’s gasping as he reaches out with a sticky hand for his brother. Ian turns his back because he’s memorized the scene. They’ll hold hands, wet drying on wet. They’ll share words and soft kisses, hands still locked. 

He shakes his head because this is what gets Don off harder than fucking his brother. Oh yes. He’ll jerk off as his little brother gets reamed, mouthing _Don_ over and over. Edgerton turns the shower handle, letting the icy shock of cold beat to hot against his back. Maybe it’s denial or maybe they’re screwed up in the head, all three of them. The beautifully twisted brothers Eppes, trapped in their white light perversions of the flesh and relationships, what is normal. And there he is, stuck in a wheel of desire and pleasure that they turn, Charlie’s head thrown back in laughter while Don looks fondly at him. But they need him and he _wants_ so he’ll be back for more. 

He wanted to fuck Charlie just as much as Don. And Charlie? Charlie wants to be fucked and moan his brother’s name into the air. Doesn’t matter who’s fucking who. They’re all getting fucked in the end. 

**Black :: Sexuality + Elegance + Mystery + Anonymity + Sadness + Underground**

The blue shirt is unbuttoned just enough to keep him distracted. It’s a v-dip revealing skin and black hairs, a few inches of skin that he has to force himself ignore, not to stare at. What doesn’t help matters is how it is Don’s shirt, loose underneath his black suit jacket. It’s worn untucked, hanging over his jeans in a casual manner. Don wants to tell him to tuck it into his pants just so he can tear it out from underneath denim during the mad scrabble to expose skin when they are alone. 

Charlie does this sometimes, reveal parts of his body without thinking about what it does to others. He dropped his chalk during one of his classes, mumbling about proofs and theorems as he sank down to pick it up. His shirt rode up, just enough to reveal an expanse of skin and a knot of his spine. Charlie didn’t hear the giggles or the predatory sound coming from the girl who sat next to Don. He was far too absorbed in his lecture to notice the world around him. 

The simplest motions are converted through his body, made sensual. He doesn’t see how he places himself under a spotlight, bringing his body to everyone’s attention. His hands curve and knit around a mug of coffee letting the delicate bones of his fingers come into display. The knot of bone on his wrist that’s always smudged with chalk, ink, or marker is pure temptation to Don, especially when his chin is cupped in his palm. Charlie’s perfect mouth is brought to the forefront and it takes all of Don’s will power to not suck and nibble his way across his wrist and elegant, long fingers to feather-soft lips. 

The wiry black hairs that cross Charlie’s body look slightly wrong in conjunction with his soft features and curls. His sharp brows cut above his eyes, rising and rushing together with his emotions. The stubble on his jaw and neck scratch into Don’s skin when he rubs against him, reddening his skin with irritation. Don likes to tickle the hairs along Charlie’s arms and trace along the brown-black line that runs below his navel with his supposedly cold fingers until he finds a way to warm them. 

Most of all he loves to just trace along his jaw bone until he reaches the angle below his ear, just like he’s doing now. Charlie leans into his touch and hums his contentment deep in the back of his throat. Seeing Charlie’s lips stretch into a warm smile pulls all of the stress from Don’s body. This is familiar and his as he lowers his head onto Charlie’s chest. He burrows against the open collar of the shirt feeling skin and chest hair against his forehead. No fighting binding cotton tonight; he just wants to stay against his brother and let Charlie radiate and wash over him. 

**Red :: Heat + Love + Danger + Violence + Intensity + Energy + Passion**

His apartment is an oven despite the fans that whip air around the rooms. Every so often it passes cool over his sweaty skin, but it disappears too soon. Don runs the cold beer across his temple and debates heading over to his Dad’s place where the central air pipes cold, but that would require movement and clothes. And he’s enjoying the sight of Charlie wearing just his boxers, his skin flushed from the heat. 

There’s a faint tinkling sound coming from the fridge, ice hitting a glass. He swigs his beer down and rests the empty bottle on his thigh. Suddenly there’s a rush of cold against his shoulder and he jumps before leaning into the ice cube that’s making its way along his collarbone and down the center of his chest. As it trails back up his chest to his lips, Charlie whistles low and smooth along the dripping path, raising chill bumps across his skin. He sucks on icy cool fingers for a bit before Charlie pulls them out and reaches for another slick cube. 

He shuts his eyes like he’s told and this one surprises him. It snakes a path along his foot, twisting around his ankle bone then behind his knee. It disappears for a moment and is replaced by a Charlie’s mouth sucking cold against the soft flesh of his inner thigh. His body is overwhelmed with hot and cold and he wants this feeling to continue forever.

The world shifts as Charlie moves on top of him, pushing him into the couch, his hot skin sticking to Don’s. He inhales and sweat and heat and Charlie rush and flood his body. They are flushed red with warmth and desire. He drags his fingers along his brother’s damp back, sliding them over his lower back to his tailbone. Charlie laughs into his mouth, around his tongue because he’s ticklish there. Very ticklish as he traces down further, pulling down his boxers, and giving his ass a firm smack. He’s a pervert now, and smacks again before his arms are shoved above his head, a sloppy kiss planted against his cheek. 

Suddenly, the hot apartment and the heat of his brother’s body pressing down on his becomes heaven. He lands his hand on Charlie’s ass one last time for good measure, knowing he’ll pay for it later on. 

**Yellow :: Idealism + Imagination + Sunshine + Cowardice + Jealousy + Illness**

Billy Cooper’s on his knees, licking long stripes along Don’s dick. The sunlight lightens his hair to spun gold as Don twists his fingers through the short strands as he thrusts into Billy’s wet and skilled mouth. He won’t have any of that and he presses Don’s hips to stop him from

No. 

Billy’s pushing Don onto the ground, dragging his mouth up and down his naked body. Trails of spit glisten and shine in the light as Don’s nipples are teased by Billy’s fingers and his tongue. He licks down to his navel and dips his tongue inside. He ignores Don’s cock when he sucks on his hipbone then moves his tongue over to his balls. Don’s dick is hard against his belly and he’s telling him to take him into his mouth. Billy smiles that grin of his and dips down to take in the leaking head as Don moans in

No. 

Don’s mouth is on Billy’s cock. Yes. Don’s mouth is on Billy’s cock, lips ringed in a perfect “o” as he bobs and hums around the dick in his mouth. He strokes his tight ass, squeezing and running his fingers around his hole and sliding them in. Yes. He hits that sweet spot with every crook and slides in two more and now Billy’s thanking God and Don and whimpering as he gets finger-fucked and blown and he’s spilling into his mouth. Don looks up, his lips shiny with spunk and 

No.

Billy is 

Don is pressing his hips into Ch

_No_.

Don is running his hands along Bil

_Fuck…_

Don is pressing his hips into Charlie’s, denim on denim, raw and rough. Charlie’s up against the wall as his mouth crashes into his brother’s, slowly but with desperation that grows more and more. He runs his fingers through his spiky hair, pulling at it hard. Too many layers dull the sensation and he wants to feel Don’s dick against his and let their skin slide together. Charlie grins feral and pulls open Don’s shirt, buttons popping and tinkling onto the floor. Hunger leads Don to pull his brother’s yellow t-shirt off roughly and toss it behind him. Their mouths are slamming and their chests are rubbing against each other, desire fusing their blood and bones and bodies together.

_Oh God yes._

And Charlie keeps his hips away long enough to undo his jeans and then Don’s and their cocks are out and tight in his fist. In a breathless rush Don becomes power as he thrusts into Charlie’s hand, dick moving against dick. There’s fire and wetness and then

_Fuck!_

Billy comes hard, hissing through his teeth, jerking on his cock roughly. He wipes his hand off on his discarded boxers and cleans himself off. Flipping the light on, he walks to the kitchen and snatches an orange from the bag, begins to peel. There’s a lurch in his stomach and he stops, tossing the orange across the counter. He doesn’t know what makes him sicker. Coming to the image of his ex-partner banging his brother or the fact he knows that it’s happening and he’s not fucking there when they do it. 

**Blue :: Peace + Stability + Harmony + Truth + Calm**

The water is warm and gorgeous, the waves crashing to a rhythm and pattern that Charlie’s trying to explain to him. He tries to pay attention to his words and the chart that is being carved into the sand, but his attention drifts from his brother to the sparkling blue and white in the light. The breeze whips around them as gulls float by on the warm pockets of air. Don stares out at the water, endless and pushing past the horizon. 

Around them the air is tangy with salt and the solid sound of the waves beating the surf. Don lets Charlie wrap up his explanation before sinking his hand deep into the wet sand, scooping up a heavy handful. He lets it splat onto the beach as he tries to mold it into a workable form. He begins to shape it into a hill, as close to a castle as it will ever get. Charlie laughs next to him, calling it a sorry excuse for a sand castle. Don shakes his head and clucks his tongue, scolding his brother about his lack of artistic talent because he’s just jealous after all. The sun’s blocked out by a shadow then the castle explodes into nothingness as Charlie kicks and stomps it out of existence. 

Charlie’s still protesting being labeled juvenile when the walk back to the truck. Instead of trying to argue with him, Don slings an arm over his shoulder and turns him quickly in the direction of the ocean. He tells Charlie that he wants to give it to him. The ocean, the sand, and peace it creates. 

They drive away, sand sticking to their legs and the smell of the ocean in their hair.


End file.
